


Lost it to Trying

by Brokenjaw (Vrael)



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: And uh Hawaii I guess, Blog Articles, Blood, Coffee Cravings, F/M, Not as dark at the tags seem to imply, Post Season 4, Self-Harm, Summoning the Devil to do your Earthly Bidding Maybe, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, devil sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-06-23 17:22:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19705996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vrael/pseuds/Brokenjaw
Summary: Coping with loss really isn’t easy - especially when it seems that there’s not a decent cup of coffee in the 469 square miles of Los Angeles.





	Lost it to Trying

Detective Chloe Decker of the LAPD stared down at her pitiful, watery coffee. Flecks of Folger’s grounds floated around the surface in an oily film. It even smelled even worse than it looked: like burnt tires and battery acid. And the chipped breakroom mug had been leaving rings on her files all morning. It was all she could do not to toss it, mug and all, straight into the nearest garbage can.

She winced. 

Long gone were the days where her partner brought her coffee. 

Technically, he was a civilian consultant- if she wanted to be accurate. Even more technically the Devil. Satan. The Final Adversary or whatever - if she wanted to be truly honest. And maybe her love, if she was given more of a chance. 

But maybes didn’t butter her bread, or bring her lemon squares, or give her tooth aching kisses on a beach. Maybes are hollow things, taking more than they give. Maybes taste like shitty coffee left to congeal in an unwashed coffee pot.

She snorted, dumping the contents of her mug into her once much abused succulent. Since Lucifer left, it seemed to be thriving. Without it’s steady diet of whiskey new growth seemed to explode in celebratory spite. It irked her. Someone had to put it in its place.

“Chloe.” Dan rounded her desk. “Can uh- can we talk for a sec?”

“I’m a little busy.” Chloe shifts, trying to focus on her computer monitor.

“I can see that.” He plops down in the empty chair that her partner used to sit in, the one she purposefully keeps empty. She knows he’s egging her on to say something. To get him to leave, at the very least. It’s one of his interrogation tactics. A gentle irritation to open up a rapport.

She lets whole minutes pass without comment. Of the two of them, she has infinitely more patience. 

“Okay. Can I be honest?” Dan finally breaks. “You look like ten shades of shit right now, Chloe. You’re wearing the same outfit from yesterday. Your desk is a disaster area. And Trixie tells me you don’t have any clean cereal bowls left, so this morning she ate out of a Tupperware container. I know I’m not parent of the year, but come on. You’re never like this. You've never been like this, even with… even with the divorce.”

Chloe looks down at herself. She’s wearing a cream colored sweater littered with coffee stains. And true enough, she can feel the sweaty film of her unwashed skin.

“I’m fine. I’m just a little distracted.” She grouses and continues to try and focus on the monitor 

“You should take some time off.” He ex-husband says a little more forcefully. “When’s the last time you had a vacation, huh? Hawaii is nice this time of year.”

“Hawaii is nice every time of year. Like I said, I’m fine.”

“Okay. What about your mom? I’m sure she would love it if you and Trix visited.

Yes, nothing says relaxing like a few weeks with a woman who will not stop bemoaning her life choices. 

“You’re really not selling it.” She huffs. 

“If you don't take a leave of absence I will make you.” He puffs himself up big, but she’s known him too long to fall for the tough guy act. She raises an eyebrow.

“You and what army Dan?”

Ella then appeared from absolutely nowhere. Her tiny frame somehow appearing from the abyss between her desk and the bullpen ficus.

“This army.” She pointed at herself. 

“And me.” Maze stepped out from behind a desk partition, slick and quiet. 

“And us.” Amenadiel and Linda had snuck up behind her.

“You’re kidding.” Chloe folded her arms. Annoyed, and unintimidated. “You’re all absolutely kidding.”

It was Linda who spoke up.

“Chloe, you need to take a break. Throwing yourself into your work won’t help you get over-“

She cuts Linda off. “I’m really not in the mood for therapy right now-“ 

“I can see why you and Lucifer got on so well.” She interrupts over top of her. “Bullheadedness? Check.” Linda’s hand ghosts over the Bible on her desk, as well as scattered printouts if Wikipedia articles. “Obsession? Check.” She takes Chloe’s unlocked cellphone off the desk before she can stop her. Her thumb flicks through her call list. “Lucifer. Lucifer. Lucifer. Lucifer.” She lists. “Denial? Check.”

Maze crows in approval, her smirk is as sharp as one of her knives. Ella is surprisingly unmoved- she hasn’t broken eye contact since her appearance, as if Chloe were a tiger, not a tired Detective. Amenadiel pointedly says nothing at all. He just looms behind Linda like and overgrown eagle. 

“I’ll take care of Trix.” Dan tries again. “Just take some time off. I already cleared it with the Lieutenant. All you gotta do is go home.”

She hesitates. She doesn’t want to leave. She really doesn’t. The idea of being alone with herself and her own thoughts sounds more like Hell than anything Lucifer ever described.

Maze can see it on her face. The reluctance. She catches on it, like a shark with blood on the water.

“Don’t make us carry you out of here.” Maze winks, playfully brandishing a blade. “Though I can’t say it wouldn’t be fun.”

They all crowd her desk. Ella, Dan, Amenadiel, Linda, and Maze. It’s a lost battle. And if chafes her. She knows it’s not a betrayal, but it sure feels like one.

“Fine.” Chloe growls. “Fine. You all win.”

Chloe venomously grabs her jacket, and without a single backwards glance, leaves.

* * *

But Chloe doesn’t go home. 

Instead, she’s in line at the nearest Starbucks. Waiting.

A sleepy acoustic jingle drifts from the overhead speakers. It’s one of those aggressively boring songs that scream indie coffee shop without the bite of actual independence. The queue stretches past the pastry case and winds listlessly across the sticky floor. There’s an entire rainbow of valley girls are squawking in front of her, dishing about Frappuccinos and calories and if almond milk has carbs. 

Chloe rolls her eyes. 

On any other day she would be politely amused by their colorful yoga pants, matching purses and the quick and careless smiles of the girls in front of her. But today all Chloe wants is to do is get her coffee and get out.

“Oh my god,” One of them crows suddenly. A blonde with a high ponytail. “I almost forgot to tell you guys! Did you hear about the Lux?”

Chloe’s ears prick up with interest.

“That place with that guy, whats-his-face? The one you banged like a couple years ago?” An unnatural redhead wrinkles her nose unkindly. “The guy who was super into roleplay?”

Chloe almost snorts at that, but remains silently unaffected behind her hair and sunglasses.

“Lucifer Morningstar. Yeah. That’s the club.” The girl tosses her ponytail over he shoulder. “Yeah, so apparently Lucifer just dropped off the face of the planet. He hasn’t been seen in weeks. He was there one day, and then, poof, he’s gone. The entire club is shut down.”

“I bet you it was the mafia.” One of the other girls says. “Stuff like that is always the mafia. I bet you he was into some crazy drugs and shit and owed somebody a lot of money. The guy kind of seemed like a major creep anyway. I don’t care how hot he is.”

The detective frowns. 

“You cared how hot he is when you saw him at the club.” The first girl sneers. “Don’t say you weren’t super jelly when you saw us leaving together. 

“Yeah, and didn’t you say you got tested immediately afterwards? And that the guy is a “Grade A” slut?”

Hot anger suddenly flashes in Chloe’s gut at the slur. The implication that Lucifer would be that inconsiderate. That, and even jealousy, that this girl in front of her had gotten closer to Lucifer than she ever had, physically. And it meant next to nothing. Just a footnote in a conversation in a Starbucks line. 

“Whatever.” The blonde says. “It’s just a shame that the place is shut down is all. It had the best drinks.”

“You mean the best eye candy-” 

The barista clears her throat and is staring up from the register expectantly. It’s obviously their turn to put in their drink orders and pay. Surprise, surprise- Its a round of fussy drinks. A 210 degree almond milk latte, extra dry, extra foam, with four pumps of vanilla. A Frappe with almost no actual coffee ingredients. Some sort of tropical tea drink with lumps of dehydrated fruit swirling at the bottom of the cup.

Chloe doesn’t want to judge, but given their most recent conversation she does. 

She glares at them through her sunglasses, watching as they stab their assorted lids with green straws. The memory of Lucifer’s conquests parading through the station flits across her brainstem. It’s hard to believe so many men and women were mostly indifferent about their various escapades with the Devil. Even casually cruel. But here’s her proof, once more, with feeling.

The barista clears her throat again. 

“Hi. Sorry.” Chloe says with a smile. “Medium coffee, please, black. The darkest roast you have.”

“We have tall, grande, and venti.” The woman replies patiently, as if she’s speaking to a three-year old. “Also we only have blonde roast available right now.”

“Fine. Whatever. Grande blonde roast. Thank you.” Chloe orders and pays.

She thinks once again about the coffees Lucifer used to bring her. She never asked where he got them - which was probably one of the greater mistakes in her life. It’s obvious how much she had been spoiled. The Devil even had a routine, just for her. 

She remembers the Monday mornings when he brought her black and velvety pours- ones that slid across her tongue so brightly it was like swallowing oranges and sunshine. The Tuesdays when he brought in donuts, just to keep up some sort of goodwill among her coworkers- and of course the single lemon square (just for her). There were the hot Wednesday afternoons with iced coffees that had just a splash of some sort of blueberry syrup, just enough sweetness to soothe her temper. Thursdays were always a surprise - and usually laden with splashes of Bailey’s, though Chloe pretended not to notice. And on Fridays he brought her these lattes- these perfectly smooth and sweet confections of caramelized amaretto and fresh whipped cream... 

The barista coughs, and Chloe is jolted out of her coffee based reverie. She grabs her order. The Starbucks cup is hot in her hands as she walks out the door. Almost searing thought though the cardboard ring. 

Chloe glares upwards at unrelenting LA sun, but walks down the block anyway, leaving her car parked. She’s lived in this city long enough not to actually expect anything different. She needed to burn off some of this frustration, regardless of whether or not it was hot. She needed to be distracted before she did something really stupid. Like actually run away to Hawaii, never to be seen again.

Chloe takes a single sip of her coffee, winces, and then hucks it in the nearest trash can.

* * *

Her feet drag her past record stores and taquerias. Dive bars and dumpy bookstores. Car washes, Comfort Inns and an In-and-out. 

Having time to herself like this aches like a cavity. And Chloe has no idea what to do with it. Time passes, the sun drifts ever so slowly downward toward the horizon, and she marches onward.

* * *

Chloe finds herself outside a butcher shop, run down and rusty. Flies buzz from a dumpster in the side alley - and the stench of rotting meat in the Los Angeles heat sours her stomach like nothing else. Not even this morning’s coffee can compare. Or the Starbucks. 

But something snags on her subconscious. It’s all her Wikipedia articles, all the silly privately hosted websites with campy pentagram backgrounds. Blogs run by angry teenagers.The books written by aging witches who dropped too much acid in the 70’s. The Bible’s left in dusty hotel rooms across the midwest. The moth eaten tomes on her desk she snagged from the public library under the guise of LAPD research. 

She knows she’s standing there staring at the store like an idiot. But there’s an idea taking shape. And probably a very stupid one. Much, much, much stupider than Hawaii.

* * *

Chloe parks her car on the street outside the Lux, careless of the strewn garbage and puddles that were decidedly not water. She didn’t want to see the posh white garage, filled with expensively useless cars. Her heart was aching enough. From the backseat Chloe pulls two tubs of sheep’s blood because apparently lamb’s blood is not exactly the easiest to come by. But it should be good enough… hopefully. She slams the car door shut before she thinks better of what she’s about to do. 

Her key still works and she’s inside the club with zero resistance. She sweeps past ghostly cloth covered tables and empty shelves that were once filled to the brim with liquor. The once bright and cascading lights are all out, like stars that were suddenly snuffed. The entire place has the air of a morgue. It feels alien. It feels wrong. 

The detective shivers in the elevator on the way up to the penthouse. Her T-shirt is tacky with sweat from the walk. The air conditioning is aggressive. The sun is setting. These are all perfectly good reasons why hairs stand up on the back of her neck, why there’s goosebumps down her arms. But they’re lies too. Because Chloe is warm enough.

* * *

Lucifer’s penthouse is much the same. White cloth is draped on all of the furniture. The fridge has been cleaned out. The bottles on his once immaculate bar have been stored away. Everything has been cleaned and compartmentalized for her to deal with at a later date. 

She sighs. 

What Chloe doesn’t want to acknowledge, what she has yet to _really_ acknowledge - is that all of this belongs to her now. Not to Lucifer. Apparently, when he took off - he left her everything. Including his lawyer and accountant and his fiduciary. Everything was already taken care of indefinitely - it was just up to Chloe to decide what she wanted to do with it all. And it was quite frankly a lot to deal with. Every time she even began to think about it, her brain would shut down - and she would find herself scrolling through her phone to cope. None of this was what she wanted. Not without him. 

Chloe grabs some candles from Lucifer’s bedside drawer (no doubt a remnant of his hot wax escapades) and opens an article on her phone. She flicks past a couple of new age recipes, instructions on crystal cleansing, and a list of uses for lavender before she finds the section she wants. “Summoning Familiars and Devils for Personal Use”. She’s pretty sure the author means demons - but maybe, just maybe it will work anyway. 

_“STEP ONE:”_ The page reads. _“Draw a circle on your chosen surface in virgin lambs blood. Be sure that the premises are not consecrated. Example pictured below.”_

The picture is crude. A pentagram with what looks to be a wiggly snake circling its circumference - but it’s easy enough to replicate. Chloe peels open one of her buckets from the butcher and finger paints in blood on the immaculate floor.

She washes her hands and moves on to step two.

_“STEP TWO: Place five candles on the circumference of the circle. One at each point of the star. Light them with a match. Do not attempt to light with a lighter.”_

She finds matches by Lucifer’s stove. That part was also easy enough. Her thumb scrolls further down the page.

_“STEP THREE: Recite the words of summoning, placing your right hand on the head of the snake, with the name of the one you wish to invoke They must be spoken aloud, firmly, in Latin. This binds the agreement and your protection.”_

Chloe swipes downwards, but only to find step four. No words of summoning. Maybe she has to come up with them on her own. Bespoke to what she’s hoping to achieve. She taps open Google Translate and taps in something simple, and straight to the point. 

“Lucifer, si placet potestis audire me. Venite ad me. Te requiro.” 

_Lucifer, please if you can hear me. Please come back to me. I need you._

She says it out loud, with as much strength and grace as she can muster. Her voice almost wavers and the enunciation is clumsy. Her throat constricts with unspent tears. But it’s firm, like the directions said. The blood that makes up the snake’s head smears a little. When she flicks to step four, and actually reads it, her heart constricts. 

_“STEP FOUR: Slice your forearm sterilized knife. Not too deep, but enough to draw blood. Slicing you palm in uncomfortable, unsanitary and not recommended.This will bind your summoned creature to your will and compel them to obey.”_

Lucifer’s kitchen knives are sharp and Chloe expected this. The slice is clean and quick- but it stings like a motherfucker. It brings home how batshit insane she must be to be attempting to do this. How stupidly desperate. But she’s gone too far to chicken out now. 

Her grip on her phone is shakey, but she keeps going. Her eyes scan the remainder of the page. 

_“STEP FIVE: Wipe a generous amount of your blood in the center of the pentagram. WARNING: Do not step into the summoning circle from this point onward until the ritual is complete. Do not break the circle. No matter what anyone, inside or outside of the circle says. I can not be held responsible for any lapses in judgement in this matter.”_

“Right.” Chloe says. And she supposes that makes a bit of sense considering everything she’s seen in movies. What if she summoned something other than Lucifer? It seems like a sane safety precaution for someone, who wrote this, who is probably insane. 

Like herself. 

She smears her blood on the floor as instructed. 

_“STEP SIX: Invoke the words of summoning once more.”_

The detective frowns. It seems redundant. But she proceeds anyway. 

“Lucifer, si placet potestis audire me. Venite ad me. Te requiro.” She repeats.

And waits.

“Lucifer, please if you can hear me. Please come back to me. I need you.” She begs once again. 

But the room is silent. Only the small fluttering of candles breaks the stillness. 

Chloe checks her phone again. But step six is the bottom of the page. There’s nothing more. 

Minutes pass, but nothing happens.

* * *

Chloe Decker is sobbing quietly in a corner, wedged between Lucifer’s enormous bed and the wall to ceiling windows. Night has fallen over Los Angeles - and across the valley, buildings shimmer with starlight. 

Of course it wouldn’t work. Of fucking course. What the hell was she on? She’s a fully fledged adult. Why would some woo-woo blog article work where every other thing Chloe tried failed? Praying didn’t work. Calls. Text messages. Everything was met with the same silence. All she had accomplished was slicing up her arm and getting the floor dirty. Like a child. 

And even her face is even sticky with snot and tears. 

Like a child. 

After a while, Chloe’s legs begin to ache and she’s forces herself up off the ground, wiping her face on the bottom of her T-shirt. 

It’s probably time to start having therapy sessions with Linda, as much as Chloe is loathe to admit it. She can’t keep doing this, her friends are right. She’s fixating and fixating and fixating. And it’s not helping anyone- especially her. It’s time to start trying to move on. 

She makes her way back into the “living room”, or what constitutes as the living room considering the open floor plan. The candles are still flickering upright where she left them, only, they’ve burned down to waxy stubs. 

Staring at her work, even she can acknowledge the whole endeavor was ridiculous. 

Chloe walks over to the balcony doors to let the night air in and grabs a mop from a hidden away cubby hole. She steals a dusty bottle of red, and flicks on her Spotify playlist.

It picks up in the middle of one of her work-out playlists. One of the weirder ones. The song is howling and bluesy. The guitar roars and plods like a predator stalking and stalking and stalking. There’s woman crooning desperately into the microphone with longing and lust. 

_“And you can tell by the souls of my feet, that I’ve traveled far. That I've traveled far, still nothing is mine to keep…”_

Chloe finds herself singing along, a soft echo to the climbing howl. The mop sways in her arms, back and forth. Back and forth. She drinks from the mouth of the wine bottle. Because why the hell not.

_“You said you were lonely first time around- and I lost my miiiind. ‘Cause I know both you and me were born under a baaaaaad siiiiign.”_

Blood is still trickling down her arm. She’ll clean it later. Her eyes blur with tears again. She’ll wipe them later. Her sweater and her T-shirt are rancid with sweat. She will wash them later. The mop is slowly making its way towards the circle proper. 

“You're so pretty- like the rising suuuuuuuuun.” Chloe sings, her voice echoing in the empty apartment. And if feels good, even if she’s almost screaming and off key. “And I can't quit you, baby- 'Cause you got the devil in your eyes- in your eyes...”

The crying isn’t stopping. But Chloe isn’t ashamed. At least here, alone, she can get her grief out without having to worry about Trixie, or Dan or anyone at all. The mop begins to seep up the sheep’s blood. Saline drips onto the coils of the snake.

“I need a _devil-_ ”

And then the glass doors rattle- the wind sweeps all the candles out. Her crooning music flares into screeching static. The penthouse is painted in neon and red light. The change is so sudden it takes a moment for Chloe to process what’s going on. Instinctively she backs away from the circle. It’s sound and it’s chaos and it’s a light show.

A figure slowly drags itself upward from the middle of the pentagram. Dark, massive and muscled. Claws rake the edges of the sheep’s blood, it almost seems as if the circle is too small to contain whats crawling up from the depths of hell. Her heart lurches in her chest with a desperate, desperate hope. 

“Detective-“ A voice rumbled like earth and thunder. “Chloe?”

And he’s there. Lucifer Morningstar. In all his Stygian glory- leather wings, red mottled skin, hooked claws, and a twisted, hairless visage with eyes burning like the sun itself. The only thing he’s wearing is some rags that probably used to be pants.

She pulled him through, somehow. With a blog article of all things.

Relief washes through her system, even though what she’s looking at, from an outside perspective, is a monster. But it’s him. He’s alive. He’s here. And that’s all the matters.

And when he looks at her, his sunlit eyes are soft. His shoulders, heavy with the burden of wings, slacken. There’s a small, fragile smile on his lips. He stares at her like she’s water in a desert. Land, after years at sea. The moon, after decades underground. And oh how she wants, and wants and wants. 

But, oddly, she feels… wrong. She’s lightheaded, and her heart is pounding like a jackhammer.

The Devil notices immediately. His jaw hardens. 

“That was a bloody foolish thing to do. A bloody fucking foolish thing to do.” Lucifer’s gaze snapped down at himself. The snarl of scars that made up his face crumple. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I-I-” It was so hard to catch her own breath. She’s dizzy and the room is tilting on it’s axis. A Bone deep pain begins to surface from almost everywhere. Its bubbling to a boil. 

He makes to reach for her. To catch her, maybe. Probably. But his fingers hit something impenetrable, burning and electric. She can hear the snict-snict of it, as If Lucifer’s own skin crackles with impact. His throat looses a frustrated groan and leathery wings slice the air like blades with no target. 

Her blood is screeching, her bones are an inferno. She is burning from the inside out. Searing agony wraps around her brainstem and refuses to let go. She sees red. She sees black. She sees the shadow of the universe. 

“Detective,” Lucifer’s voice sounds so far away. Her heart is pounding too hard, too fast. “Chloe! Listen to me. You need to open the circle. It’s feeding off your soul to keep me contained.”

Chloe focuses. The warning mentioned in ‘Step Five’ lurches to the forefront of her mind. This could all be a trick. This could be a demon hurting her on purpose to be set free - and is pretending to be someone it’s not. 

“Chloe!” Lucifer shouts again. This time his voice is pleading and stretched to breaking. “Please!”

She’s now on the floor, but she manages to look upwards at the figure she’s summoned and contained. 

“How- how do I know you’re the real Lucifer?” She mumbles weakly. 

Lucifer looks more panicked than she’s ever seen him, his glowing eyes sharpened to pin-points, but he swallows thickly and responds. 

“Your daughters name is Beatrice. Your ex-husband is a douche. You shot me. And you also told me you loved me.” Hey says, and a single tear slips down his cheek. “And I love you in return.”

She shuffles to the edge of the circle, wiping away the blood to make a gap in the containment. 

And then she passes out.

* * *

Chloe comes back around to her music, drifting in and drifting out. She’s rising and falling with the rhythm and adrift on a warm, soft, and very comfortable sea. There’s an arm slung across her waist, a hand holding hers. Breath is gently rustling her hair. And when she opens her eyes the world is bathed in pinks, and reds, and golds. 

The detective blinks a couple times before realizing where she is. 

She’s in a cocoon made by Lucifer’s wings. 

Without any clear geography to look at, the only clear assumption anyone could make is that they are on the couch. A chair is too small, and his bed doesn’t have a leather back. Chloe groans, her head is pounding and the sea shifts under her. Lucifer pulls her closer, burying her head into the crook of his neck.

“Well good morning sunshine.” He purrs. “I like the playlist.”

Chloe noses his jugular.

Surprisingly, Lucifer smells like he used to- and her closeness is rewarded with scent of cigarette smoke, whiskey, and impossibly, vanilla. Her lungs inhale deeply. Remembering. Savoring. Having him warm in her arms feels like home. 

His breath catches against her skin as if he feels it too. She nips him gently at the skin beneath his jaw, soothing it with a kiss. And his smile could ignite entire galaxies. Her soul longs to swim in it.

“Good morning.” Chloe replies. 

The wings around her suddenly flutter and roll like a tarp. Orange eyes, burning bright like copper coins, bear down at her. Her heart seizes. It flutters like a malfunctioning machine. His gaze is like a knife sliding around her stem-like spine. He cuts to the core of her. Past skin and tender flesh.

She wonders, briefly, about Eden and the Apple metaphor.

“Well, Congratulations Detective,” The Devil yawns lazily, like a big cat. “You summoned your own personal California Raisin.” The wings behind her flex and lift, coming to rest behind his shoulder blades. The morning sun drowns them both. Dust motes drift in the sunshine like currents of forgotten glitter.

Chloe frowns a little. If he wanted to, he could just go back to his less exciting self, right?

“You aren’t changing back.” She says. 

Lucifer’s gaze shifts.The embers in it dull, and his broad shoulders stiffen. “Not that I mind.” Chloe hasilty adds.

He snorts and scoots farther from her anyway. The damage done. Being bereft of his warmth almost hurts. 

“I take it this is the first time you tried summoning something from hell?” 

An exasperated huff escapes her lips. “Yeah, you think?”

His wings twitch irritably. The claws on the tips flex like thumbs and his twisted fingers pinch the bridge of his nose.

“The whole point of a stupid bloody summoning circle is to protect the summoner. Anything stupid enough to take the bait is stripped of all deception. It's like an exchange of goods and services. And a fair transaction cannot happen without both parties being transparent.”

“I don’t think it could be any more clear I summoned the Devil.” Chloe prods.

His face congeals into a pained grimace, but he answers. 

“Ah, but what if I looked like your grandmother? Or your child? What would you offer me then? What would you do to please me?”

“But I broke the circle.”

“Yes, but the stain still remains-“ A gnarled hand gently ghosts up her sliced forearm, claws lightly dragging on a bandage. He must have dressed it while she was passed out. Molten copper eyes soften. “until the contract is completed and I leave this earthly plane.”

Her eyes narrow. “Contract?”

“Traditionally, you exchange your soul for something you want.” His voice takes on a teasing note. “Whatever you desire. I am but your humble servant.”

Her soul. Her immortal soul was on the table right now, being tossed around like a plastic casino chip. And up until a couple months ago she had every doubt in the world that souls existed at all. Panic claws up her throat before she can swallow it back down. Nausea hits like a punch to the gut.

He sees the look on her face, and hurt crosses his own. 

“Detective.” He chides gently. “I was joking, your soul is safe with me. You must know that by now. I am your humble servant regardless. There is nothing I would ever take from you.”

“I know.” She snuggles closer to him, to prove it. “I know. I’m still adjusting a little. Sorry.”

He laughs. A huff of hot air ghosts the nape of her neck.

“Says the woman who broke into my apartment, drew a pentagram in sheep’s blood, sliced up her arm, and tried to summon the Devil with some piss-poor Latin.” He says against her ear, light and teasing.

“I can’t believe I did that.” She mumbles into his chest. “I’m a moron.”

His hands come around her - claws softly scratching down her spine. It feels, for lack of a better word, heavenly. Her brain drifts. Blood loss is a hell of a drug. And so is summoning Satan it seems. Time seeps through her fingers like honey and gold. Because this is what she wanted. Him, safe and sound and back. His quiet breathing. His humor. His everything.

“Well it does seem you have a penchant for occult spontaneity when under duress.” Lucifer rumbles. “Though moron you are most certainly not.”

“And for the record I didn’t break into your apartment. You left me the key.” She replies sleepily.

“So I did.” He says. 

And Chloe drifts back out again with the tide.

* * *

She wakes up to coffee. Glorious, gorgeous coffee. Rich and steaming and everything she has wanted in a single mug.

Chloe is in Lucifer’s bed, swaddled in silken sheets - and there’s this cute little table balanced across her lap. On it, there is orange juice, and waffles dredged in syrup, whipped cream, fluffy cheesy eggs, crisp sausages, a bowl of sugared strawberries, and even a tiny vase with a single white flower sprouting from its mouth. 

Her gaze finds the Devil sitting on the edge of the bed. His wings are tucked right against his spine. 

“Grocery delivery service, darling.” He says answering her unspoken question. 

The spread is enough for at least six people. Chloe shakes her head fondly. Some things never change.

“I can’t eat this all by myself.” Chloe pats the space next to her in the bed. “Come here.”

Lucifer seems surprised. As if in the full light of day, with a clear head, she wouldn’t want him anywhere near her. But soon enough his shoulder is close enough to touch her own, and he’s delicately picking at the strawberries with the tips of his claws. There’s only one fork, and instead of getting up and grabbing another they share. 

She spears bits of waffle, and it’s a playful competition to see who can swallow it first. Eventually for the sake of Lucifer’s sheets she just takes to simply feeding him - taking turns between her mouth and his, balancing forkfuls for the both of them. Her thumb brushes his scarred cheek every time the fork slides in. And her partner leans into it, making it sort of a more messy affair anyway. 

Somehow, this is her life. Hand feeding the Devil waffles. 

She’ll take it. 

Even if it’s only for the coffee. Which was still glorious lukewarm.

The morning laps itself away like gentle waves on sand. It breathes in and out. A rhythm the color of copper and sunlight. There are so many questions to be asked. So many things she wants to say. But there’s only one thing she really wants to know above all else.

“So, if you don’t want my soul, and my Latin was poor- why did you come?” She prods, polishing off a sausage. “I didn’t think sheep’s blood was such a valuable commodity.”

“Because you asked, Detective. And I heard. I thought that was rather obvious.”

Chloe looks up at his face, and even in the wreckage she can find his telltale smirk. His lips are still sticky with breakfast. And he, really is, despite everything, so fucking beautiful.

“Though, for future reference, sexy, of legal age virgins also do the job-“

She kisses him. Partly to shut him up, but mostly because she’s missed this, with him. He tastes like he used to - warm, with a hint of spice and also like maple syrup and a sweetness so sharp she’s sure it will rot her teeth. His teeth are sharper, and his lips scratch against her own. But texture is never a bad thing. She’s gentle, she’s melting, she’s falling. They breathe the same air.

He pulls away first.

“Detective.” And then she saw it. The full culmination of his insecurity. His eyes are guttered candles, and if she didn’t know any better- she was looking at a dejected kitten, rather than the king of Hell. “This isn’t what you want. I know you better than that.”

Chloe shrugs. 

“I meant what I said that night on that balcony. I love you. And I mean it now.”

Lucifer looks so completely lost in this moment. He can’t argue with her on this, as much as he visibly wants to. His face is the same soft thing that it was when she first summoned him. He looks at her like she’s the only thing worth looking at in the entire universe. 

“I know.” He sighs, relenting and leaning back against the bed. “I know. I just don’t know what I did to deserve it.”

“Maybe dying for me twice? Or consigning yourself to hell to keep me safe? Or being the best partner I ever had?” Chloe huffs. “I would say that if I wasn’t completely devoted to you, my next partner would have to meet an impossibly high bar.”

“Completely devoted-“ He sputters.

“I mean yeah. I am.”

“I-“ He runs a hand through non-existent hair. “Chloe. I don’t know how long I can stay. I will probably have to leave sooner rather than later - the demons will get suspicious if I am absent too long.”

“And what if I don’t care about suspicious demons?”

Lucifer doesn’t reply. His face is blank, a carefully controlled mask. It’s the facade he puts on when Chloe flies way too close to his emotional sun.

“I get it.” She nudges his shoulder, “You’re the King of Hell. But you’re also Lucifer Morningstar. And I don’t know what I’m going to do without you.”

But silence drifts. The Devil is silent.

“Earth to Lucifer. Come in Lucifer.” She flicks his nose, he snorts and shakes his head. His hand finds her own. An apology without words.

“I can’t stay like this.” He says finally, as if trying to convince himself. “A monster in a world I don’t belong in. I have to go back. Soon. Probably at sunset given the theatrics of that hell-forsaken Wikipedia article. Or wherever you found the ritual.”

“It was a blog.”

“Regardless, I’ll have to leave you.” 

“Will you come back?” Chloe doesn’t want to sound desperate, but...

He gathers her in his arms then. She’s almost crushed against his ribcage. His grip is steel, and she’s absolutely positive that if he could he would keep hugging her until they were one singular being. Pressed, condensed and diffused down into one. 

“You’ll see me again,” He says. “I swear it.”

But he doesn’t say when. Or how. Or where. Her throat constricts in disappointment. But Chloe, who won’t let the opportunity go to waste, has one more question left for him to answer. Just one.

“Well, in the meantime we still have a few hours to kill. Do you want to have sex?” She inquires oh-so-casually. She even bats he lashes just a little, even with her nose mashed against his collar bone. 

The Devil sputters and releases her.

“Are you absolutely insane?” 

“Yes I am, actually. Probably. But I still want to.”

“I can’t believe you. I honestly can’t believe you. I spend years, Detective, years - trying to seduce you with every method I had at my disposal! Suits, dinner, cologne, gifts - anything and everything. Nevermind that I’ve been described as sex-on-legs by at least hundreds of lovers-”

Chloe rolls her eyes and slides the breakfast tray off the bed.

“- But no, instead the second you summon me, as an unholy abomination fresh from hell, disfigured and monstrous- your first thought is sex. When not so long ago you were so disgusted by this- you could even look me in the eye. I-“

She pounces then, so quickly that the Devil is caught by surprise. She gathers both of his hands (so massive that it’s a feat) and raises them above his head so that they’re trapped against the headboard. He hips are straddling his waist, locking him there. Chloe’s lips press against his own, and she’s licking. She biting. And she’s claiming.

Lucifer groans and it does wonderful things to her insides. She consumes every bit of noise he makes hungrily, as if she didn’t just have breakfast.

“I honestly, honestly can’t believe you.” Lucifer says against the curve of her mouth.

“That sounds like a personal problem.” 

“Detective-“

“You’ve talked a lot of big game, Lucifer. Are you going to put up or shut up?”

* * *

She expects sex with the Devil to be a ferocious event. The kind of thing that rips here skin off and puts it back on backwards. There’s the expectation there that she will be taken apart piece by piece - and then shoved back together in a quivering, aching pile. She expects to be so thoroughly dominated that not an inch of her own will would exist by then end. Only, that doesn't happen. Not in the least. 

It actually starts like a song. 

Slow at first.

Sweetly, sweetly, slow. His lips are ghosting down her neck and her body pressed tightly against his. He doesn’t take. He never takes. He only wants whatever she sees fit to bestow. Like he said before. Its thrumming base - a chord so deep its hard to hear. 

Lucifer is shy to the point of being delicate. This is new for him, its painfully obvious. He might have been golden god of sex, and pleasure incarnate - but like this, he’s stumbled. He’s fallen. And Chloe has to carry him some of the way. Its an equal footing - and she doesn’t mind in the least. 

“I didn’t want our first time to be like this.” He breathes at the soft skin beneath her ear. “I wanted so much better for you. You deserve so much better.”

“You’re making sound like I’m missing out.” She nips gently at his collarbone. “But there’s no place I would rather be, with no one I’d rather be.”

She’s patient. She’s careful. She’s reverent. Every kiss she gives is a promise. That there’s is nothing he could ever be that would disgust her. That his skin his hers. His eyes are hers. And his heart is hers. And she’s not letting go. 

Eventually, Lucifer gathers his courage. 

His clever hands unlatch her bra, rough palms slid up to her breasts - swiping pinpoints and strangled gasps. Her dirty shirt is shucked off without preamble. And she tells him more. More. More. More. Her palm slides down his slick abdomen, lower, and then- lower. The noises he makes are so criminal she could arrest him right then and there. He sounds almost like he’s dying. Dying to crawl inside her skin and stay there. 

She’s a breathing mess in only a handful of minutes. 

And then the tempo picks up. 

Her hand is around his length. His teeth are bared in what must be exquisite agony. Already he’s bucking into her. She lets go and brackets his hips - slipping his raggedy trousers clean off. He’s big - bigger than she imagined. Maybe it’s because he’s in this form, maybe it’s because he’s painfully erect. But whatever the case, he is impressive. 

But he ignores his need and chases her own. Her pants are off, her panties are off, and he reciprocates her touch and then some. Clever fingers slide between her legs.

“Chloe-” He seems so surprised that she’s so wet for him. Astounded. 

“Lucifer.” Her smile is wicked sharp. She’s not gloating, but she’s almost. “I told you so.”

His wings quiver. Everything about him stills. 

And then, he’s back. Lucifer Morningstar. Notorious playboy of Los Angeles. The man everyone dreams of - if only in spirit. His confidence is restored. She can see it in his shoulders, his chest, his predatory smile. 

A chord is plucked. Soaring like a violin, drifting like the thrum of a piano.

The Devil is between Chloe Decker’s legs. His tongue slides around her clit, his fingers curling up into her folds. It’s perfect- it just is. Because her brain can’t latch onto any other word. Lucifer hums and the sound that escapes her lips is almost a shout- only she inhales it backwards. It’s trapped behind her tongue and teeth.

“Oh Detective.” He says against her cunt. “I want to hear you. Please let me hear you.”

But she’s panting. Reeling. She can barely hear the words over her own rising, quaking sea. Her grip on reality is slipping at an alarming rate.

“I’ll make you a deal.” Chloe gasps. 

“Oh?” She can feel his smile against her thighs. “A deal you say?”

“You come back up here so you can hear me better and I’ll be as loud as you want.”

“Tempting.” He says, but his fingers are still climbing, and climbing. Chloe is getting too close for comfort. He’s not stopping. He’s an engine revving at her core.

“Just please- I want you.” She complains. “I want you. All of you.” 

He stops. He actually stops, and presses a kiss just above her knee.

“Whatever you want darling.” He almost slithers up her body. “You’ll never have to make a deal with me.”

Her hands find his face, and it’s level with hers. The inferno that is his gaze stutters her heart into a rapid drumbeat. It’s a percussion is louder than any sane thought she could possibly dredge up. And he’s smiling, a real, honest smile. It’s so open, so beautiful, so sacred that it physically hurts.

“I love you.” She says suddenly, serious as sin.

He sinks into her ever so slowly. It’s pain. It’s pleasure. It’s both. And she’s so full, so complete, that there is not a single part of her that’s wanting. 

“And I love you, Detective.” He says, and it’s vibrating to the very center of her being. “Even when you almost kill yourself trying to summon the Devil from hell. I’m actually still mad about that you know.”

“Then let me make it up to you.” She kisses the tip of his nose.

And they’re moving together. Slowly at first, Lucifer is taking his sweet time. And Chloe, she’s savoring every inch. 

But it builds. And builds.

Lucifer’s wings shake and flutter with each thrust. His eyes are lanterns, lighting up her world. And she pulls him deeper and deeper. She’s screaming, she knows she screaming - but she can’t hear a sound. All she can even process is her partner against her body. Its that good. 

“Lucifer.” Her voice hits a low note. And oh, the sound he makes at his name. 

Suddenly everything hits a crescendo at once. 

Lucifer’s mouth is at her shoulder, biting down on tender flesh. She sees nebulas. Constellations. Fire and Darkness. She’s breathing in the ocean. She’s tasting the sun. The moon. Jupiter and every single planetary body at once. 

Her partner shatters inside her- broken, and absolutely beautiful.

* * *

They clean themselves up just as the LA sun is beginning to set. Chloe, ironically, finds a miracle in Lucifer’s closet: a suit that can actually fit him. They slice up the back to make room for his wings - but he almost looks like his dapper self again. He certainly regained his swagger at the very least. His confidence is no longer wanting. Not when the both fucked so thoroughly it took almost an hour for them to figure out which way was up.

But now her partner is drawing another circle in sheep’s blood. Apparently he needs to leave the same way he arrived. Flying back wouldn’t quite cut it this time. Not if he wanted to put himself back to rights.

She hands him a mug with a little bit of blood in it. She had sliced her other arm to get more, but not deep. It didn't stop him frown snarling as she did it, however. He dumps the contents in the middle of the pentagram with a flicker of disgust.

Chloe swallows. There feels like there’s something lodged in her throat. Their borrowed time together is coming to a close - and if she were a lesser woman she would be kicking and screaming. 

Instead, she’s crying silently - hoping Lucifer won’t notice. 

But of course he does.

“Hey now, chin up Detective,” He says softly. “I swore I would be back, remember?”

He’s in front of her now, so close she can feel the heat of him. But she can’t bring herself to look. Her blurry gaze is planted firmly at her feet. 

“Come on, I said chin up.” He says, tilting her gaze to meet his own. 

“I just-“ She crumbles. “I hate doing this without you. I hate waking up every day knowing you’re not there. That’s there’s no one to snark at me over paperwork. My life is so much simpler without you - and I didn’t realize until too late that was a bad thing.”

“Chloe-“

“And you know what else? I hate the coffee at the police station. I hate the coffee at Starbucks. I hate the coffee I make at home. I hate that you’re not there with whatever liquid miracle you conjure every single morning. I hate everything about this. And it’s just not fair.”

He leans down and his lips softly brush against her own. The touch is so gentle she shivers. His forehead is against her own, and he’s breathing her in. 

“I will be back, Chloe. The Devil doesn’t lie.” He leaves another kiss that lingers. “Trust me.”

She nods. 

“Goodbye Detective.” 

He pulls away towards the circle, shiny Louboutins echoing through the empty penthouse. It feels like an ache. She has to say something. Anything. Even if she can’t bear to say goodbye back. 

“They tried to get me on a trip to Hawaii.” She calls suddenly. “To forget about you, you know?”

He partner turns to look at her, patient and puzzled. 

“Why didn’t you go?”

“Because I’ve already been to paradise, Lucifer.” Chloe knows the line is cheesy, but it’s true. And it’s the most succinct way she can say how she feels. 

His smile is lopsided, crooked, and unbalanced. It’s about as fragile as frost in the heat of summer. 

But no less dear. 

“Detective, please do me a favor. Please?” His voice is smooth, like it used to be. “Take a vacation. You’ve earned it. And you look good in a tan.”

And then Lucifer Morningstar is gone.

* * *

“I knew I would find you here.” Mazikeen says, her hand deep in a bag of Swedish fish. 

Chloe Decker is back at the precinct, and until now, she thought she was quietly sneaking back to her desk. At this hour she figured there wouldn’t be a soul around to catch her in the act.

“Am I that pathetic?” She’s washed and she’s cleaned up at least. That had to count for something, right?

“Yes.” Maze said, munching her Swedish fish loudly. “We told you to go home.”

“I just had to pick up a few things before I went.” It’s not really a lie. Not really. There’s a few case files she’s hoping to smuggle home. 

Mazikeen stares, hard and pitiless. Chloe knows that she’s a demon, but this is one of the very few times she feels it.

“Fine, Decker.” Maze snaps the head off a gummy with her teeth.“You have five minutes.”

“Thank you.Thank you.Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” The demon grumbles, rustling the yellow bag. 

Chloe quietly makes her way through the bullpen, past desk ornaments and screensavers. But when she rounds her desk - something is amiss.

Her desk is clean. It’s organized. It’s pristine. All of her pencils care back into her designated holder. The files are stacked neatly - and the lingering stickiness on the desktop has been wiped away. 

And there’s an envelope there. Right next to her mouse. She opens it without a second thought.

_“Detective,_

__

__

_I know I can’t actually force you to do anything. But at least let me tempt you. Just this once. For me.”_

An airplane ticket flutters from the paper. And behind the letter there’s room booking information, printed with little palm trees dotting the edges.

Tears fall from her nose leaving two blotches on the crisp, printed ink.

Chloe looks up, trying to get her shit back together just in case a coworker sees. Or in case Maze came to enforce her five minute rule-

And In the center of her desk, just above her keyboard is a paper cup of coffee. She’s positive it wasn’t there until a moment ago. Steam is still wafting up from the lid. She can smell the cream and the amaretto- heady, thick and intoxicating. There’s no label on the cup - but she recognizes it for what it is. An offering unto her. Lucifer’s handywork.

She takes a sip.

It warm, and so buttery it slides like velvet. It’s a champagne that lights a fire in her veins. And for a moment, just for a moment, she’s in the passenger seat of Lucifer’s Corvette. They’re on highway one. With sun, and sand, and seagulls. Lucifer’s hands are at the wheel - but he’s smiling so bright it hurts to look at. She can almost feel her hand reaching to grab his. Their fingers tangle on the gear shift - leaving coffee as just an afterthought. 

It tastes like heaven.

**Author's Note:**

> Coffee is just that important ya'll. 
> 
> Uh. Hello. I'm the weirdo from the daemon fic, back at it again with the white vans. And the not beta-having. And the sloppy presentation. Thank you for all the lovely comments on that pic by the way. This is for you- and also all the other authors on here who have inspired the fuck out of me.
> 
> Also the song, if anyone is interested (yes, I know its the tackiest of cliches) 
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s4SDBWTqG9Y


End file.
